


clean

by onbeinganangel



Series: kinkuary 2021 [22]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comeplay, F/M, Facials, HP Kinkuary 2021, Masturbation, Miracle Hangover Cures, Mutual Masturbation, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:20:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29695623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onbeinganangel/pseuds/onbeinganangel
Summary: Hermione knows that there are very special in-between things, more than folklore, more than old wives’ tales. There are things that aren’t quite magic the way she knows magic, but certainly feel like it.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: kinkuary 2021 [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2137662
Comments: 8
Kudos: 46
Collections: HP Kinkuary 2021





	clean

**Author's Note:**

> hello my name is mari and i hate writing p in v sex, but here's my take on romantic facials as a treat for us all
> 
> honestly romione is so hard to write for a canon ship i was ready to poke myself in the eye, but this ended up very sweet in that 'a couple that has been together for a while and know each other really well' way? i think? maybe? probably?
> 
> who tf knows
> 
> anyway, thanks [Uphorie](https://uphorie.tumblr.com)!!

There are a lot of things that live on the invisible line between magic and Muggle superstition. Borders that were crossed centuries ago, things no one wants to talk about anymore. Hermione didn’t know magic existed for the first eleven years of her life, but she knows some things she heard of before then were more than science. It’s nothing like her mum praying to St. Anthony and tying a handkerchief around the leg of a chair when she lost something. Or dangling a ring over a pregnant belly to determine the gender of the child.

Hermione knows that there are very special in-between things, more than folklore, more than old wives’ tales. There are things that aren’t quite magic the way she knows magic, but certainly feel like it.

She doesn’t remember where she heard it first. It may have been one of the other girls in the dorms. May have been Fleur and Tonks, the way they’d giggle and trade stories back in Grimmauld Place while Ginny and Hermione soaked up their older girl wisdom.

The exact words were “a wank and a pint of water,” but she knows now that you can mix it up a little bit. An orgasm and a bacon sandwich will do the job just as well.

Sunday dawns with a heavy feeling at the nape of her neck, a sore head. It’s not exactly a full blown hangover. It’s a combination of too little food, maybe one or two too many gins and, if we’re being honest, too many minutes listening to Seamus’ loud voice and Harry’s retelling of yet another terrible date with someone he ended up sleeping with anyway. Hermione likes routine. She doesn’t mind it. It means things are as they should be.

Ron is half awake next to her, but they simply smile at each other when she gets out of bed and walks over to the bathroom. She brushes her teeth and fills a glass up with cold water and ignores the throbbing pain blossoming at her temples.

It’s always like this. Soft, quiet, natural. The both of them stumbling out of bed, one after the other, and falling back into it minutes later, wrapping the duvet around them and wrapping themselves around one another. 

She lets Ron start it off, because he likes it, but at this point, they both know it’s coming. She lies on her back, head tilted, leant against his shoulder, and he slowly — teasingly so — runs his fingertips down from her collarbone, straight between her tits, over her stomach, and down between her legs. When she squirms softly, he helps her out of her shorts, and helps her throw that leg over his own. He traps her leg between his, which gives him free access to where they both know his hand is going next.

This is nothing like midweek sex, when she’s tired and cranky, and he’s pent-up and overworked. This isn’t a quickie over the dining room table, or a blowjob in the shower. It isn’t Hermione riding him on the sofa or Ron helping her on top of the kitchen counter and eating her out. Hermione isn’t worried about being late for something or annoyed that she’s already gotten ready to sleep and now she has to do it all again.

On a Sunday morning, they take their time. 

Ron coaxes an orgasm out of her with practiced ease. With two fingers curled _just so_ inside her and his thumb rubbing in a gentle but consistent rhythm over her clit. She lets him. She just lies back, a hand lazily stroking his hard prick over his sleeping shorts, but she just lets it happen. When she comes, it’s with a broken gasp, and little desperate pants.

He doesn’t stop, after. He moves from under her legs and undresses. She takes her top off then. He moves in between her parted legs, kneeling and she watches him stroke himself in an unhurried touch. A Sunday kind of touch.

She slides down the bed, closer to him, asking without words, and he smiles at her before sliding his cock between her slick folds. Ron doesn’t fuck her, not properly. It’s a teasing touch that drives her mad. He rubs the head of his cock against her, then pulls back, then does it again. He slides into her just a little, just enough for her to moan quietly, and clench around him slightly, silently against him to do it properly.

He doesn’t, for a while. When he does, it’s still slowly — shallow but intent thrusting. He runs both his hands up Hermione’s body — big, broad rough hands that make her shiver under his attention. He grabs her tits, pinches her nipples between thumb and index finger, but keeps moving up, shoving two fingers into her mouth that she licks avidly.

He grabs her hand then, and brings it back down with his, leaving her palm face down against the little mound of curls. He looks at her, and mouths _“do it”_ and she touches herself to the pace of his slow, hard thrusts.

She comes again not long after, as he grabs her thighs and folds over her, kissing her neck and whispering softly in her ear. 

Ron pulls out and straddles her belly, looking at her hungrily as he strokes himself. The room is quiet and warm, and the only thing that matters is the feeling of his skin against her and the dizzying smell of sex.

Hermione watches the familiar sight — she knows how he does it now, squeezing tight over his shaft, thumbing the head gently on the stroke up. She urges him on and his pants go quicker and his skin gets more flushed.

She lifts her head off the pillows slightly, still looking him dead in the eye, licks her lips and opens her mouth, slowly, tongue poking out, flat and long, telling him exactly what she wants.

His hand stills, a quiet _“fffffuck”_ slips out of his lips and the first string of hot come hits her tongue, then her cheek, her chin, her neck as he keeps coming.

Breath shaky, Ron smiles and bends down to kiss her, the salty-sweet taste of him between their tongues.

Hermione knows that next she’ll jump in the shower and he’ll make bacon sandwiches. Maybe in a couple of hours she’ll remember the headache that plagued her when she first woke up, and think about magic that isn’t magic and how some things _just work._

**Author's Note:**

> for a more hyperactive and extremely chatty version of me, come say hi [on tumblr](https://onbeinganangel.tumblr.com)


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